Lucy gained in strength so rapidly that within a week it was thought
safe to let her be baptized. Her father, Uncle Gilbert, Chester, the
housekeeper at headquarters and one other sister were present at the
Baths. Elder Malby performed the ordinance. Three others were also
baptized at the same time.
Uncle Gilbert was very curious as also a little nervous at what he
called the "dipping." He couldn't see why the ceremony required a whole
swimming pool when a few drops sprinkled on the forehead, had, as long
as he had any recollection, been sufficient. The father witnessed the
ordinance unmoved. Lucy went through the ordeal bravely, and when she
came out from the dressing room where the sisters had helped her, he
kissed her placidly on the forehead.
The party took a cab to the mission headquarters, where a simple service
was held of singing and prayer, Elder Malby making a few remarks on the
meaning and purpose of the ordinance of baptism. The newly baptized were
then confirmed members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day
Saints. Then the housekeeper invited them all down to the dining room,
and again there were a few simple special features in celebration of the
happy occasion.
And it was a happy time in the one only way which comes from duty done.
A sweet, quiet peace abode in every heart. Was not the Heavenly Father
well pleased with these as He had been when the Son had done likewise.
And the Holy Ghost, the Comforter from heaven rested upon them softly as
a dove,--that was the secret of their supreme joy.
As Lucy had predicted, Uncle Gilbert's curiosity brought him to Chester
for more information regarding Utah and the "Mormons." The very next day
after the baptism, Uncle Gilbert met Chester before he entered the
house. They greeted each other pleasantly, and then Chester inquired
about Lucy, and how she was feeling.
"Lucy seems to be all right," was the reply, "though her father isn't so
well this morning. He had a bad night but is sleeping now. That's why I
met you here, so that he might not be disturbed by the bell."
"I'm sorry," said Chester. "These attacks seem to be coming frequently."
"My brother has not been well for years. For a long time he has had to
fight hard with himself and his nerves. Sometimes they get the best of
him for a time, and, of course, as he gets older, he has less strength.
I wish we could get him to Kildare Villa. He would be himself again down
there."
"We were to have gone in a day or two, were we not?"
"Yes; but he can't leave yet--Do you want to see Lucy?"
"Just for a few moments; she'll be busy with her father."
Uncle Gilbert went in the house, considerately sending her out alone.
She was radiantly beautiful to Chester that morning in her soft white
dress, fluffy hair, and glowing eyes; but he only looked his love for
her, and said:
"Good morning, _Sister_ Strong."
"Good morning, _Brother_ Lawrence," she responded.
"How are you feeling?"
"I am feeling fine. But poor papa--"
"Yes; Uncle Gilbert told me."
"We'll have to remain here until he gets over the attack. Uncle is
anxious to get home, and I must admit I'd rather be at Kildare Villa
than here."
Then Uncle Gilbert came out with hat and cane. He was going for a walk
with Chester, he said, for it would be wiser not to disturb the sleeper.
He explained to Lucy that her father was getting a much needed rest, and
that she was to see to it that he was not disturbed. Chester would
"keep" with his Uncle Gilbert for a few hours.
The morning was fair, so the two men struck out for Hyde Park. They
walked across the big stretches of grass, then rested on a seat by the
Serpentine. As yet, not many people were about, and the London hum had
not risen to its highest pitch.
Uncle Gilbert wanted to know about Utah, and Chester entered into a
detailed description of the state and her people.
"I have, of course, heard of the Mormon people; but I will admit my
ideas are somewhat vague. My brother, as a preacher, must of course,
have come in contact with all sorts of religious professions. He seems
to know considerable about Mormonism. Where did he learn that?"
Chester explained what part Lucy had played in this.
"Well, he agrees very much with her belief, for I have heard
conversations which lead me to that conclusion. Of course, all that is
their business, not mine particularly. Let's walk out in the middle of
the park where we can make believe we are not in London, but out in the
beautiful green country which God has made."
The grass being dry, they could sit down on it to rest.
"As you are, I presume, to become a member of the family some day," said
Uncle Gilbert, "I am going to tell you something about my brother. It is
not a pleasant subject, but I have concluded that you can be told. It is
a family secret, you must understand, and must be treated as such. It is
only because I believe your knowledge of the truth may help my brother
that I am telling you this.
Chester thanked him for his confidence. He would be glad to help in any
way he could.
"Well, the story is this: My brother in his younger days before he was
married, had an unfortunate experience with a young woman. There was a
child as the result. The woman, as nearly as I can make out, married
well enough, and later, joined the Mormons and went to Utah. She did not
take the child with her, for some reason unknown to me, at least; and
so the boy--for it was a boy--became lost to his father, and as far as I
know, to his mother also. I don't suppose all this worried my brother as
a young man; but recently, within the past few years, I should say, his
conscience seems to have pricked him severely. He has some vigorous
views of fatherhood and the obligations flowing therefrom--and I can't
say but he is right--and now he worries about his own great neglect. He
has talked to me about it, so I know. Sometimes he worries himself sick,
and then his nervous trouble gets the overhand."
Chester lay on the grass looking up into the sky, complacently chewing a
spear of grass, while Uncle Gilbert was talking.
"What was the woman's name?" asked Chester.
"I can't recall it just now. In fact, I don't think I ever heard it.
Now, another thing that you must know, and you must not be annoyed at
this: at times, I believe he imagines you to be that boy of his."
Chester sat up, and exactly at the moment when he looked into the face
of Uncle Gilbert a cog in the machinery of his own thoughts caught into
a cog of the wheel within wheels which the man at his side had been
revealing. The cog caught, then slipped, then caught again. Wheels began
to revolve, bringing into motion and view other possible developments.
"That's only when his illness makes him delerious," continued Uncle
Gilbert. "As I said, you must pay no attention to him under those
conditions, but I thought you ought to know."
"Yes; yes," whispered the young man--"Thank you." For him, Hyde Park and
London had disappeared: all earthly things had become mist out of which
he was trying to emerge.
"You don't know the woman's name," Chester asked again, with dry
lips--"Tell me her name."
"I don't remember. I'm not sure, but I believe I have heard my brother,
in his times of delerium speak of Anna."
"Anna. Anna," repeated Chester, as he stared into space. Uncle Gilbert
looked at the young man, and then repented of telling him. He was a
little annoyed at his manner. He arose, brushed the grass from his
clothes, and said:
"Well, let's be going."
Chester went along mechanically. At the Marble Arch Uncle Gilbert was
about to hail a bus, when Chester stopped him.
"You'll excuse me, wont you for not returning with you--I--I--"
"But I gave my word to Lucy that I would bring you back."
"Yes; I know, I'll come after a while--but not now--you go
on,--I--I--there's your bus now; you had better take it."
Uncle Gilbert, still a little annoyed, climbed on the bus and left his
companion looking vacantly at the line of moving busses.
Chester went back into the park. There was room to breathe there and
some freedom from fellow beings. He left the beaten paths. Oh, that he
could get away from everybody for a time! Old Thunder out among the
Rocky Mountains would be an ideal place just now.
The wheels of thought went surely and correctly. There was no slipping
of cogs now. _The Rev. Thomas Strong was his father._
Every link in the chain of evidence fitted. There was no break. He went
over the ground again and again. There came to him now facts and
incidents which he had heard from his foster parents, and they all
fitted in other facts and strengthened his conclusions. Now he also
remembered and understood some of his mother's remarks about ministers.
Yes, Thomas Strong was his father! Lucy's father! Why, he and Lucy were
brother and sister!
It is quite useless to try to tell all that was in Chester Lawrence's
thoughts and heart from then on all that afternoon. He did not know,
neither did he care how long he lay on the grass in the park, but there
came a time when his solitude became unbearable, so he walked with
feverish haste into the crowded streets. The lamps were being lighted
when he came to the Thames Embankment, where he watched for a time the
black, sluggish water being sucked out to sea by the outgoing tide. Then
he walked on. St. Paul loomed high in the murky darkness. He got into
the ridiculously narrow streets of Paternoster Row, where he had on his
first visit bought a Bible. The evening was far spent and the crowds
were thinning when he recognized the Bank of England corner.
Realizing at last that he was tired, he climbed on top of a bus going in
the direction of his lodgings, where he arrived somewhere near midnight.
He went to bed, but not to sleep for many hours.
"Lucy, you are my sister. I love you as that--but my wife you never can
be--" yes; he would have to tell her that. But why had this father of
his let him and Lucy go on as they had? He had told his father the
secret of his life. He remembered distinctly his father's actions how he
had even called him "son," which he had thought at the time was for
Lucy's sake. Knowing him and Lucy to be brother and sister, why had he
permitted them to form ties such as had been formed? Was it a plot on
his father's part to again bring misery to human souls, to make to
suffer those that were of his own flesh and blood? No, no; that was
impossible. Surely he was not that kind of man.
More clearly now the panorama of his life came before him. Where was the
Lord in all this? He had thought the Lord had led his steps wonderfully
to so meet one who made his life supremely happy--but now--the darkness
and the despair of soul came again--was this not a hideous nightmare?
The day would bring light and peace.
Towards morning, Chester dozed fitfully, and at last when he awoke the
day was well advanced. He and Uncle Gilbert had been in the park--uncle
in reality now. Yes; it all came to him again. It had been no dream.
Chester got up, soused himself in cold water, then as he was dressing
said to himself. "Well, what's to be done? I must make this thing sure
one way or another." Perhaps there may be a mistake, though he could not
understand how. He would go direct to Thomas Strong and ask him.
He had no appetite for breakfast, so he ate none. As early as he thought
wise, he set out. How should he meet Lucy? What could he say? If he
could only evade her.
No; Lucy was watching for him, with a worried expression on her face,
which deepened when she saw Chester's.
"I must see your father," he said with no effort to even take her hand.
"Papa is not any better, I fear."
"But I must see him. Where is Uncle Gilbert?"
"Shall I call him?"
"Yes, _please_."
Lucy returned, and Uncle Gilbert met Chester in the hall.
"He is very nervous again this morning, and I don't think you ought to
excite him," explained the brother.
"I must see him--just for a minute. I'll not engage him in any extended
conversation."
"That you cannot do as he can hardly speak. His trouble affects him in
that way."
"Let me see him just for a moment--alone, please. Is he awake?"
"Oh yes; he's not that bad. Go in a moment, then, but be careful."
Chester passed in where the minister sat in an arm chair, propped up
with pillows, signs of Lucy's tender care. As Chester entered, the man
smiled and reached out his hand. The resentment in the young man's heart
vanished, when he saw the yearning in the suffering man's face. Yet he
stood for some time rooted to the spot, looking at the man who was no
doubt his father. Every line of that face stood out boldly to Chester.
How often, in his boyhood days he had pictured to himself what his
father was like--and here he was before him. In those days he had nursed
a hatred against that unknown sire, but now there was no more of that.
If only,--Chester kneeled by the side of the minister's chair, letting
the old man cling to his hand. He looked without wavering into the drawn
face and said:
"Are you my father?"
The man's hand dropped as if lifeless, but Chester picked it up again,
holding it close.
"Tell me," he repeated, "are you my father?"
"Yes," came slowly and with effort, as tremblingly the father put his
hands first on Chester's shoulders as he kneeled before him, then raised
them to his head, asking, "Do--you--hate--me? Don't--" That seemed to be
all he was able to articulate.
"No, no; I do not hate you; for are you not--are you not my father!"
"Yes."
The son put his arms around his father's neck and kissed him. The father
patted contentedly the head of the young man, as a parent fondly
caresses a child. They were in that position when Lucy tapped lightly on
the door, opened it, and came in.